And now the winds their organ ply, Tuned to the music of the birds, And rustling leaves and lowing herds, Oh! what a thrilling harmony! Joys there are of wider scope, Our social and domestic ties, Faith, love, charity, and hope, With all their mingled ecstacies. And mental bliss that never cloys, But charms the head and thrills the heart; Life! how grand a boon thou art! Life! how sumless are thy joys! A HINT TO CYNICS. YOUTH, beauty, love, delight, All blessings bright and dear, Like shooting stars by night, Flash, fall, and disappear. Let Cynics doubt their worth, Because they're born to die, The wiser sons of earth Will snatch them ere they fly. Tho' mingled with alloy, We throw not gold away; Then why reject the joy That's blended with decay? MUSIC. PEACE to the tenants of the tomb Whom oft we met in hall and bower, Peace to the buried friends with whom We shared the charm of music's hour; Tho' dead, they are not mute, for still Does memory wake some favour'd strain That makes our yearning bosoms thrill Health to the friends we still possess; Oh! long and often may we meet, Our yet remaining years to bless With Music's pleasures pure and sweet: And praises to the power divine That gave to man the precious boon, Which makes life's social evening shine As brightly as its morn and noon. THE BARD'S INSCRIPTION IN HIS DAUGHTER'S ALBUM. THE thoughtful reader here may see A little world's epitome In turning each successive folio;- This Album's multifarious olio. Its owner, from her circle wide Of friends, may here survey with pride And when they're absent,-alter'd-dead Each contribution will be read With double zest as a memento. Here with a smile will she recall The walk, the concert, or the ball, Shared with the young and merry-hearted ; And here, perchance, while brooding o'er The song of one who sings no more, A tear may drop for the departed. Yet-daughter dear! my heart foretells Of friends, however loved, and rather Hang o'er the page that thus records, The fervent blessing of a Father! |